


Don’t get your hopes up

by Pinkpanther11



Category: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkpanther11/pseuds/Pinkpanther11
Summary: Daphne’s opinion on miracles was never rather strong, but at the moment ‘miracle’ was the only word that came to mind at the delay in her courses. While her mother had not disclosed much of the marriage bed, she had told her distressed young daughter who’d woken up to find herself bleeding at 14 the significance of the occurrence. Miracle, could she dare hope? Could it be true or just another of her dreams dangled close and then seemingly ripped away?In short, this is my take on the thought we all had regarding how inefficient is the pull-out method.
Relationships: Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Basset
Comments: 86
Kudos: 259





	1. Miracles

**Author's Note:**

> Never really wrote anything substantial before but I was really bothered by the whole situation in episode 6, especially the assault and I wished to circumvent that from their story, I think there would have been enough drama without it as well. 
> 
> I've seen some wonderful fics here and some wondered about the same thing as I did, what if Daphne and Simon got accidentally pregnant despite his best efforts? The timeline is also a bit stretched, I know Colin technically proposed to Marina at their wedding and announced it soon after but what if we can squeeze in an extra week or two in there for the honeymoon, so nature has time to take its course? 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! I'll gladly take feedback!

* * *

Daphne’s opinion on miracles was never rather strong. While attending church as custom and hearing of such matters, she did not dwell on the tenants of faith more than the appropriate amount that young ladies such as herself were encouraged to in between pianoforte lessons and chasing after her brothers around the estate. She was far more interested in the concept of love, wishing as much happiness in her marriage as she had witnessed between her parents.

On the duelling field where Simon told her that he could not give her children, she had decided that the feelings she had for the Duke would be enough, the love of a good man would be enough without the children she always desired. In the back of her mind, Daphne was also aware that should Cressida Cowper seize the opportunity and talk of what happened in the garden of the Trowbridge Ball, her dream would be crushed nonetheless. She would have to endure the ridicule of the Ton and postpone marriage until the scandal subsided, only to eventually have her brother twist the arm of some lesser gentleman to accept her hand in marriage, deprived of much choice as to the man. Shame would follow her throughout her life and she would become known as the foolish young lady that was ravaged by the rakish Duke of Hastings who after having his fun had discarded her.

The truth would matter little in the hands-on those such as Lady Whistledown but the truth was that Simon was the one she could not stay away from, the one she started to dream of, and if children were not a possibility she would still have him. She already could admit that she loved his smile and his quick wit, the time they spent together. In the time after the Duke announced he would be leaving London, with Prince Frederick beginning to court her, Daphne refused to utter the word that described her feelings even in her most private thoughts for fear of what acknowledging it would do to her. Looking into his eyes in that garden as he questioned her future happiness, she could feel her hopes raise; running towards the maze, her heart seized "Follow me, please, show me you feel the same". The evening and following morning had been a whirlwind of emotions, finding out that Simon’s refusal to marry her came out of affection rather than disdain was a relief. Surely a man who would sacrifice so for her happiness could make a match as loving as the one between her parents if given a bit of time. She dared not name her feelings, keeping them a precious secret nurtured in her heart, safe from the hopes that seemed to be dashed during the wedding preparations the following days.

Daphne’s opinion on miracles was never rather strong, but at the moment ‘miracle’ was the only word that came to mind at the delay in her courses. While her mother had not disclosed much of the marriage bed, she had told her distressed young daughter who’d woken up to find herself bleeding at 14 the significance of the occurrence. Miracle, could she dare hope? Could it be true or just another of her dreams dangled close and then seemingly ripped away? Of course, on her wedding night, Simon’s confession of his feelings mended some of the hurt after the quick succession of rejections he had previously administered, but this, this dream, it could not be brought back and explained by a simple misunderstanding.

Thankfully, the Duke had already dressed for the day, likely determined to put the ledgers in order and leaving her to sleep longer after the strenuous activity of the previous night. It was Rose who was currently looking at her with wide curious eyes, holding the linens typically used for Daphne’s courses. She usually could reliably predict her lady’s courses and would prepare before even being asked.

‘Your Grace, the linens…’ Rose paused unsurely. ‘Well, perhaps there is only a delay, there have been a lot of changes, perhaps all is not fully settled yet.’ She continued, trying to reassure the younger girl, yet keenly aware of the previous revelation that the Duke could not have children.

‘Of course, you are right, it could not be.’ Daphne shook her head, already feeling the thorns of disappointments inching closer. She should not, her current happiness could have easily been missed in the twists of fate, she should be grateful she had Simon and put away such dreams. ‘I shall need those shortly I believe. Thank you, Rose.’

* * *

Daphne’s search for her husband brought her to the nursery’s door. Perfectly prepared for a Hastings babe, she could picture a small figure happily swaying on the rocking horse, energetic like little Gregory and with Simon’s smile. She allowed herself to dream for a moment, how overjoyed he would be when she told him, how their home would be filled with laughter as her childhood had been.

Setting off to continue her search, Daphne found Simon in his study, poring over ledgers and notes.

‘Oh, good morning, dearest’ He said once he noticed her entering the room.

‘The steward's books, I take it?’ Daphne asked as she came closer, eager to be by his side. Waking alone did not sit well with her, she easily became accustomed to his sure arms holding her as they slept.

‘Mm. I could not sleep,’ he exhaled wearily.

‘Not even after last night's exertions? Would you care to break your fast with me?’

‘I am sorry, my love. The farmer in the village was right. The estates have been neglected far too long. Wheat yields are down, yet nobody uses the fields for livestock grazing or rotate to a more plentiful crop.’

‘Is that not the steward's job?’ The Duchess asked, concerned at the neglect with which the man had treated his duties and their people. Daphne could see the tension building in his shoulders and she wished to take it away, their honeymoon might be considered over in the eyes of the Ton but she was in no hurry to dismiss the joy of their time alone.

‘They're my tenants, my people. The responsibility is mine.’ Simon quickly mellowed after his outburst, realising his frustration should not be aimed towards his sweet wife. ‘Please, excuse me. I have been staring at these figures all morning.’

‘Of course,’ Daphne acquiesced, ‘I suppose I have a good deal to occupy myself with today too. You know, I mean to visit some of your tenants. I might deliver some gift baskets and…’

Simon was so focused on his work that she was sure he’d not heard a word of what she said.

* * *

In need for a distraction from her thoughts and taking a page out of the Duke’s own behaviour, Daphne threw herself into organising gift baskets for their people in the village. If their yields were down, then surely there would be a need for food and some joy, as such her and Rose plotted a basket of bread, honey and lavender.

The fresh morning air in the gardens, gathering bunches lavender and discussing the properties of the plant with Rose was as calming as the scent to Daphne. She hoped the villagers would find much use from her gifts, perhaps they would wash their linens with some of the lavender, which did not only create a lovely perfume but according to Rose also warded off some of the potential vermin lurking about.

‘Should they have the time, they could make some lavender honey cakes,’ the Duchess thought out loud. ‘or perhaps it would be better if I ask the cook to make some and add them to the baskets in advance.’

Rose smiled remembering her lady’s preference for Cook’s honey cakes at Bridgerton House which were always decorated and infused with delicate petals of wildflowers, lavender or roses.

‘Are you missing home, Your Grace?’ She asked, interrupting Daphne’s musings.

‘Do you think we have enough for all the baskets?’

‘Um, I should think so.’ Rose said as she was silently counting the small bunches in her basket.

‘Your Grace!’ Their preparations were halted by Mrs Colson’s cry.

While Daphne was quite aware of her age and her lack of familiarity with the estate, she could not help but feel that the matter could have been addressed without her being scolded like a child. Mrs Colson might have raised Simon but she did not speak to him with the familiarity with which she was currently chiding her new mistress. Her mother taught her to trust and rely on her housekeeper but could such a relationship be established with Mrs Colson seeming so closed off to her. Was it the tour Simon had whisked Daphne away from that made the woman dislike her so? Their light joke regarding the housekeeper’s resentment might have been an accurate prophecy as it seemed. Daphne wondered if the enjoyment of their honeymoon had made Mrs Colson consider her improper, as a lady and as the Duchess of Hastings.

Regardless, the new Duchess of Hastings was determined to succeed and she would start by asking the kitchens to prepare a small batch of lavender honey cakes to add to her basket. 

* * *

Little Ada was a joy, holding Daphne’s hand as the small group headed to their home. The little one’s mother, Joanna spoke of the enterprise she took part in along with several other women in the village. With less yield coming from the fields where her husband worked, she felt better using her sewing and laundering skills to bolster their purse even if a little bit. Two children and another on the way meant Joanna was kept busy at most times but when she was mending and washing most women brought their younger children along so they could play under supervision.

‘We will have much use for the lavender and the children will greatly enjoy the treats, Your Grace. It is a very thoughtful gift,’ Joanna said, thanking the Duchess once more for the basket as well as accompanying her home.

‘I only hope to take care of our tenants, I know His Grace is already looking into the situation of the village and I’m sure he will devise a solution. Should you need anything, please do inform me. You have been very kind and I wish to thank you for your frankness and for helping me understand the issue regarding the pig farmers’ contest,’ Daphne smiled at her tentative new friend before saying her goodbyes to both Joanna and sweet little Ada. It seemed as the little girl was as fond of the new Duchess as the lady was of her and she said her farewells with a wide toothy grin. The picture of a different child with such a joyful smile on her face popped in Daphne’s mind, how sweet it would be to watch one’s own play as this little one did.

Daphne was determined. She would do her duty, she will take care of her people and her home and she would find a way to melt Mrs Colson’s icy opinion of her thus far. There was much to be done to aid those in the village and the help of her housekeeper would be invaluable. Mrs Colson would have surely known of the contract promised as a prize but as distracted as Daphne had been by her honeymoon, she must have not had the opportunity to inform her. As such, the Duchess had plans to give her housekeeper the benefit of the doubt and to have a fresh start with their interactions.

She was also determined not to get her hopes up regarding her small presumed miracle, it would be better to keep herself occupied and do her best and, should she be rewarded with a sliver of her dreams, Daphne would rest assured she deserved it.

* * *


	2. Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was a bit confused about how Daphne reached the conclusions she did after the conversation she had with Mrs Colson, but I suppose it was a bit of a 'what's that thing you mentioned' situation. But in this AU she's a bit distracted ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! I'll gladly take feedback!

* * *

The day had been slightly overcast, both in terms of weather and mood as Daphne and Rose left the village. They had stopped to meet with the local vicar with which the Duchess had had tea the previous week as her mother had advised. He seemed to be a kind man, he had been very respectful during their introduction and happy to aid them now to distribute the remaining gift baskets to those most in need in the village.

Wanting to take some time to collect her thoughts, Daphne sent Rose ahead to Clyvedon as she remained in the rose garden near her home. It was a pleasant sort of solitude with rays of sunshine warming her from time to time when they managed to peak through the clouds. It was time to ponder on her plans. From what she had observed so far, the former Duke had preferred to maintain the formalities of his role into his private life and the staff was accustomed to those preferences. Daphne did not know much about either of Simon’s parents yet from the tour Mrs Colson offered she could gather that the former Duchess either had the same preference as her husband or acquiesced to his wishes and maintained a formal decorum in Clyvedon. Yet, it was clear that Simon did not hold to such formalities between the two of them in the privacy of their home. As such it would not do for her to keep herself as distant from those under her charge, so she would need to reassure them, especially Mrs Colson, of her commitment to the role of Duchess while maintaining her own approach.

In regard to their tenants, Daphne wondered if for this year it would be fair to provide reduced contracts to all three pig farmers, indeed their profits would be split rather than the full amount. However, considering the years in which two of them would not have won the contract at all, it would be useful to find out what other enterprise did they supplement their income with. As a lady, she did not have experience in such matters but she should let Simon know as soon as possible and they would find a solution to her blunder. Perhaps he would also have advice regarding Mrs Colson as well since he must know her, he grew up in her charge. With the beginnings of a plan in place, Daphne made her way to the estate, hoping her husband had the time to discuss her ideas.

Instead, the Duke passed by her on his way to a new workspace and the Duchess decided to take the matter into her own hands, Simon might not be pulled from his ledgers but Daphne had to get the situation in hand in order to properly run her household and it all began with Mrs Colson. Perhaps her brash older brother would dismiss the woman, should she have addressed him as she had the new Duchess earlier that day, but the Dowager Viscountess taught her daughters differently. Certainly, Daphne knew the impulses her other siblings gave into more often and she herself was guilty of. Yet, in this situation, she both needed her housekeepers’ goodwill and knowledge of Clyvedon as well as speculated the impulsivity with which she had thrown herself into her honeymoon and new role was at the root of the issue. As such, the course of action she chose was cake to sweeten the relationship with her head housekeeper.

* * *

‘I know I have made some missteps since I arrived. My mother taught me a great deal about being mistress of a household, but I am not sure either of us ever imagined a house as grand as this one,’ Daphne told Mrs Colson after serving her a cup of tea. ‘I am so very grateful for your guidance, Mrs Colson. The truth is… I fear the duke might not be entirely at ease here at Clyvedon, which is, of course, no reflection of you or any of your staff.’

‘No. I... I quite understand.’ Mrs Colson agreed, still hesitant after the surprise invitation to take tea with Her Grace.

When they first returned to the estate, she had been nervous, the late Duke had been an intimidating personality whose standards she strived to meet and exceed. With Clyvedon so often laying empty, Mrs Colson was overjoyed to welcome back young Master Simon and his bride, hoping to liven the place and see it returned to the social centre it had been prior to the former Duchess’ tragic death. Undoubtedly, she was eager to be of service yet taken aback by how absorbed the young couple was with one another. Mrs Colson realised it was possible she had been unfair in her assessment of the blushing bride but what was she to think of her when Her Ladyship was mostly out of sight, secluded in some corner or another with her husband, not making herself known to the staff properly. Still, imperfections in their decorum would not excuse imperfections in hers and, as they seemed to be of different minds, perhaps Her Grace wished to employ someone else more to her liking. Mrs Colson steeled herself for what was coming.

She did not particularly dislike the young lady but she found it hard to connect with the new mistress of the house. With the previous Duke and Duchess of Hastings, the rigorous bounds of propriety were strictly enforced and after a lifetime of adhering to them, it was a struggle to accept the change. Additionally, Mrs Colson derived great pleasure from being Head Housekeeper for such a grand family as the Hastings were and greatly believed in upholding the standards befitting the rank and nobility of the house. The young Duchess certainly seemed genuine and kind-hearted but Mrs Colson could not help but compare her to her former mistress who had taken such an interest in the tenants’ and staff’s wellbeing and whose vision the housekeeper dearly wished to continue. She also seemed so painfully young, especially when gazing upon Clyvedon and throughout the tour. Mrs Colson knew the former Miss Bridgerton had married on her first season, so that did indeed put her at still a rather tender age. Would such a young girl measure with the pressures of the role? As the daughter of a Viscount, she would have been educated properly, yet there was still quite a climb in rank and expectations. Would her innocence make her ignorant of her duties?

‘You do?’

‘Master Simon… Eh… I beg your pardon. His Grace… His childhood was not always easy. After the death of my late mistress, the Duke lived almost exclusively in London.’

Mrs Colson had grown protective of young Master Simon with the role she had in his upbringing and after seeing such as solemn boy leave for grammar school, she found it hard to reconcile him with the besotted and distracted man who had returned home with his bride. She was well aware that it was not her place to question the Duke’s choices yet she dearly hoped the new Duchess would be an asset to the Hastings line, rather than the distraction that could ruin a good man.

‘Do you mean to say that Simon grew up here on his own?’ Daphne prodded.

‘We did our best to take care of him, to mind him as his mother would have wanted.’

‘Of course, you did.’

Mrs Colson nodded in acknowledgement, shakily sipping some of her tea. She could not yet puzzle the reason for this impromptu conversation and was unsure if Her Grace was cross with her yet too polite to make it clear. The former Duchess had been sweet yet firm in her communication, while the previous Duke would plainly rebuke any imperfection and as such neither had ever acknowledged ‘missteps’.

‘The late duke must have loved his wife very much to have struggled so after her death. Was it not a happy marriage, then?’

‘It was strained,’ the Housekeeper admitted. ‘He wanted an heir. She wanted a child. She kept trying long after the doctors warned her not to. Every month when her courses came, it broke my heart to see her.’

‘She was lucky to have you.’

This was when it finally struck Mrs Colson, what Her Grace was looking for in their conversation. In the plainest of terms, it would perhaps be trust, to have _her_ as an ally. Lady Daphne Basset wanted to bridge the rift and establish trust between them, not to dismiss her from her position or reestablish the power she had over her staff. The young woman before her was kind, craving connection and familiarity, she appeared like she would appreciate honesty too. 

‘Everyone talked as though it was her fault. But how could they know that? It is not always the woman who is barren. Sometimes, it is the man's fault, of course,’ Mrs Colson burst into confession. She had not spoken a word to the beloved former Duchess’s defence as much as she had wanted to, afraid of whom they could reach, and now they had all come pouring out to the first kind ear she found. ‘Oh dear, I am afraid I am speaking out of turn.’

‘No. Not at all, Mrs Colson. You were saying?’

‘Well, I said to the Duchess what my mother said to me. A womb cannot quicken without strong, healthy seed. And then, just as she was finally blessed with Master Simon… we lost her.’ 

* * *

With the first step of her plan complete, Daphne felt much better about her prospects, she now had a tentative connection with her Head Housekeeper which could be nurtured into a strong reliable relationship. This was proving fruitful already as Mrs Colson mentioned a temporary solution regarding the yields which could tide some of the tenants over until Simon worked out the rotations he had mentioned.

However, one tidbit would not leave her mind. The former Ducal couple also had suffered from infertility, and if she understood correctly, Mrs Colson was implying the Duke had been at fault. Perhaps, Simon’s difficulties were inherited from his father and clearly they were not total as her husband was proof. Mrs Colson had mentioned a ‘strong, healthy seed’ but how would one know? There had been plenty of fluids around, the young lady recalled with a blush, how could one distinguish? Could it be possible that her husband simply assumed he would have the same condition as his father? Daphne’s already late courses could mean far more than the stress of a new marriage and its duties, the miracle she envisioned that morning suddenly seemed less daunting and far more likely.

In her heart, she felt that it was real. That by some stroke of luck, very similar to the one that gifted Simon to the world, there was a babe. Daphne could picture it, the tears of joy in her husband’s eyes when she would tell him, the passionate kiss, the preparations and the awe at the life they were making. Still, she needed to be sure, before she risked both their hearts with the news.


	3. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it gets closer to the reveal, I get more nervous myself. I'm sorry it took longer than the last chapter! 
> 
> I greatly appreciate feedback! Enjoy!

Daphne woke from the nap she agreed to take after being found dozing in the library by Rose. She meant to read a journal on the history of Clyvedon which had been recommended by Mrs Colson earlier, yet her eyes kept closing, exhausted by the day already. She certainly wasn’t as great a reader as her sister Eloise, but to fall asleep reading was not in her nature, even when faced with a difficult material such as her brother’s Latin texts from Oxford. Daphne noticed she was sleeping more of late, yet with her honeymoon not seeming to die down there was plenty of exercise to drain her as she explained to her worried lady’s maid.

The sun had already set and she was alone once again in their bed-chamber, which saved Daphne some embarrassment when her stomach loudly protested the lack of dinner. Tea had been several hours ago, so Daphne put on her dressing gown and went to look for Simon and coax him away from the ledgers. She had asked for a light meal, tea and cake to be sent to his office just after her talk with Mrs Colson as he seemed engrossed in his work but surely by now, he could afford to take a break.

‘Working late, Your Grace?’ She asked, cautiously stepping into the room.

‘Curse it. What time is it?’ Simon looked to the darkened windows, perplexed as he did not even recall when Jeffries might have lit the candles. 

‘These books seem to have taken possession of you.’

‘Those people rely on me to make a living, to feed their families. I should not have stayed away so long,’ he confessed. The Duke felt a significant measure of guilt for not ensuring the steward was fulfilling his duties, he might have vowed to end his father’s line but the people under his protection were innocents who should not suffer due to their quarrel. Had he not married Daphne, Simon could not keep but wonder if he would have found out about the state of Clyvedon before it was too late. The night of the Trowbridge ball, he was planning to take a ship to the continent, far away from his Duchy and his duties, convinced that the only business he had to take care of was the affairs of inheritance with his solicitor. 

‘Why did you?’

‘No particular reason. Business in London. But then I met this impertinent young lady with a right hook like an East End prizefighter,’ Simon jested, trying to put his guilt out of his mind and simply enjoy having his lovely wife in his lap.

‘I am serious,’ she laughed, weakly pushing way his attack of her neck to look into his eyes.

‘As am I.’

‘Simon.’

‘Daphne.’ Only a handful of hours apart and he found he already missed her eyes, how easily he could be lost in the ocean of them especially when they were filled with want of him.

Their honeymoon had proven so far to be extremely and utterly diverting, if the Duke was frank, he could not keep his hands off her, his mind away from dreams of her nor calm his desire of her. It was rather alarming to be so lost in another person, he did not know love would be like this as much as he had avoided it his whole life. He did not know he could be loved quite like this. His tutors and servants never dared break decorum. Lady Danbury did, in her way. She had been the first and perhaps only to truly hug him as a child, Simon knew very well that his Aunt Agatha loved and cared for him and fiercely so but it didn’t feel quite like this. She prepared him for the world and made him strong and worthy of his qualities, showed him praise and caring. He would be the most ungrateful idiot to doubt her for a second, as she stood by his side in the most trying times of his life. Yet the love he was being showered with now was different, perhaps without the pressures of his childhood, not more, not less, just different.

His sweet, perfect Duchess who had looked in on him throughout the day, who sent him food to tide him over, who was currently holding him in her arms and simply loving him. Passionate, soothing as a lullaby, warming, soft, it felt mellowing. In her embrace, he felt as if he was dozing in the sun. Simon could so clearly see what good of a mother she would have been, how much she is like he’d imagined his mother would have been, had she lived. Guilt. Again, guilt, for he was the one who denied her her dreams yet accepted the balm she was to his soul. Selfish. Guilty. He could not think on it and he could not let her see. If she saw the selfish flawed creature he was, she would not love him anymore. Simon was burning for his Daphne, ready to do anything to keep her, have her, hear her laughter and her sighs. She might be sunshine but deep down he had a bit of Hades in him, boiling, burning, greedy for her, the selfish impulses that sent him after her in the maze before his mind cleared. He took her kiss, and gladly received her second, ruining her as the pomegranate bound Persephone to hell. Never mind that he tried to save her after, that she trapped him too, if she knew him truly, she would not love him.

So he forgot, the way he did best, the way he was soothed best, in her arms, his face buried in the crook of her shoulder, hidden.

* * *

‘It was such a simple solution. We can increase the harvest if the farmers plant turnip,’ Simon waved his knife excitedly.

Daphne’s eyes were once again blinking closed with sleep, full from the meal and listening to her husband’s passionate description. Something had to be wrong or perhaps very right, how much could one person sleep in a day, she was used to being far more active than this yet here she seemed ready to fall asleep over her plate. Their discussion regarding the pig-contest debacle had started Simon up on his future plans for Clyvedon’s farming situation, plans the duchess was expressly interested in. With her husband being a most engaging man, far from boring, Daphne was frustrated at her lack of focus.

‘On my travels, I encountered farmers who tripled their income by no longer rotating crops, and instead, planting turnip, and then turning out sheep to graze and remove the weeds.’

Calling for a doctor would alarm Simon and it seemed frivolous to do so for some tiredness and a few days late in her courses. Her mother tired easily when she was carrying Hyacinth, yet that could have been the loss of their father as well. A doctor was a less close figure who would not be there to watch her as a hawk for signs, her mother might be easier to explain to Simon. Who could she ask for advice? Rose might know but her ladies maid was not a mother herself, neither an experienced midwife.

Daphne paused to take in Simon who was passionately gesturing, explaining the brilliance of his plans, innovating and improving the lives of his tenants. She did not doubt he would be ferocious in defending those he loved if Nigel Berbrooke’s face was anything to go by. He was also warm and kind, laughter was dancing in his eyes as he looked at her across the dinner table. Simon seemed so joyful, so unrestrained as he spoke, blooming in ways she only glimpsed briefly when they were giggling as naughty children in the corners of various balls regarding their ruse. She could picture him so clearly engaging their toddler in conversation over the most mundane, serious in all aspects except with laughing eyes and a smile playing on his lips. What a sight they would be.

Little Ada’s mother, Joanna, she would be a good option, would she not? She clearly knew, having children of her own, she proved kind and open, she lived nearby. Joanna was the person to ask about Daphne’s suspicions without arising Simon’s before she was sure.

‘Perhaps, my love, I could deliver some provisions to the village tomorrow,’ Daphne started. ‘My blunder with the pigs made the situation worse for our tenants with the farm yield down as well. We should offer aid to tide them over until all is settled and your turnip is ready to harvest.’

‘Of course! Would you like me to join you? I hoped to inquire to my solicitor about engaging a new steward and send for more seeds and livestock.’

‘No need, I shall go with Miss Nolan.’

‘Very well, dearest,’ Simon smiled at her once again.

* * *

‘Thank you, Your Grace! And please send my great thanks to the duke! He has purchased us several cattle for the farm so that we may rear livestock until the soil is fertile again. Our fortunes have been restored!’

Daphne nodded in acknowledgement to her tenant as he tipped his hat to her.

‘We are glad to take care of our people, Mr Roberts, and we are grateful you brought the matter to our attention,’ she said, accepting his regards and farewells.

‘Your Grace?’

‘You may return to the house. I wish to walk a while,’ Daphne told her footman before starting towards Joanna’s home with Rose by her side who had been apprised of her Lady’s venture this morning. It was time for Daphne to put her faith in her little miracle and rip the curtain. She had planned to wait longer initially but now that the thought had wormed its way into her mind she could not put it off anymore. She had to know.

Of all things Joanna expected today, a visit from the Duchess of Hastings had not occurred to her, having seen her just the day before.

‘Your Grace!’ She tried to curtesy before being promptly brought back to her feet by the Duchess.

‘Please, there is no need. In fact, Joanna, I am here to ask for a favour and your advice once again. I…’ Daphne paused, pondering how to start. ‘How would one be sure they are with child?’

Joanna looked at the Duchess in front of her and saw instead a young woman with wide, slightly terrified eyes whose hand was inching closer to her stomach but did not dare to cradle it yet. Of course, she would help, she remembered too clearly the nerves of her first babe, the rattling anticipation. Joanna had had her mother by her side, yet Her Grace’s mother would not be here, not yet perhaps.

‘Well, Your Grace, there are a few symptoms which are common. Let us sit, should you like some tea?’

‘Yes, thank you, should it not be too much trouble.’

Joanna quickly grabbed the already boiling kettle from the fire and prepared tea in her finest crockery, one inherited from her husband’s aunt who had married a merchant some years back. She had some barley seeds she might be able to spare for the Duchess, a trick her mother had passed down which had been rather accurate for her. Miss Nolan attempted to help her serve the tea and the three women sat down in the small cottage with the sounds of little Ada and her brother playing outside in the garden. Joanna worried for a moment as she did not have any of the fancy cakes to serve on hand as they had at the local tea shop in the village but Lady Daphne seemed more eager to continue their conversation than truly interested in the tea or its accompaniments. 

‘When a woman is with child, Your Grace, there are some usual symptoms in common for most women. From what I have seen or experienced myself, they do vary, even by each child as well as from woman to woman. In the beginning, there can be tiredness, a sensitivity to strong smells, even being sick as in nauseous,’ Joanna tried not to scare the young woman. ‘Of course, the surest clue is missing your courses. Some women also find themselves feeling tenderness around various parts of their bodies.’

‘So, to be sure, one would have to wait? Until later when the belly has grown or…’ The Duchess trailed off, clearly nervous at her situation.

‘May I be frank, Your Grace?’

‘Yes, please be as frank as possible, I’m afraid I do not know much’

‘Among farmer’s wives, there is a way that usually works to determine if there is a baby. It is rather indelicate… but should one place some barley seeds in their chamber pot…’ Joanna tried desperately not to say ‘piss’ in front of Her Ladyship. ‘In just a bit of the liquid… left alone for about a week, should there be a child carried, it will sprout. Should there not be a child, it will not.’

Daphne’s brow was drawn together into a frown, how was she meant to hide a filled chamberpot with seeds from the maids at Clyvedon. And a week… shorter than it would take for her belly to swell yet it seemed so long. She looked to Rose for help, could they hide it together?

Joanna noticed their looks and wondered if she had been too impertinent to suggest to a Duchess that she should piss on barley seeds. It would be considered very inappropriate in high society would it not? Surely, the fancy doctors they had would know a different way yet the Lady had asked for her opinion and Joanna had been aided by the village midwife and other women around.

‘A week?’ Daphne asked softly. ‘Should the barley seeds germinate within a week they would uncover a child?’

‘Well, if there is no child they would not germinate at all, it usually takes a week to see that they had. Of course, if it is very early they might not even if one is pregnant, as well as, well… the first few months are delicate, it is easier for there to be an early loss.’

Joanna was confused, she could not tell why Her Grace was asking her instead of a midwife or a physician, perhaps she wanted to slip the child, but she had seemed so happy with her husband at the fair. The woman banished the thought from her head, the lady before her seemed more nervous than scared. They all stood in silence for a few moments, sipping at their cooling tea.

‘How would one go about it?’ Daphne suddenly asked, waking herself from the brief panic that had taken hold. It had not occurred to her that many babes were lost early even if she had overheard her mother once talking about it with her father, another sibling, one they would never meet.

‘To know, and to ensure keeping it’ she added, slight desperation colouring her voice.

Joanna’s eyes were soft as if she was looking at a younger sister or even a grown spectre of little Ada, a new mother nervous with her first babe.

‘If you wish you could use a jar, I would put the seeds at the bottom and pour on top, it might be easier to put away safely. You could secure it with a bit of cloth,’ she advised. ‘I would stay away from activities which are too strenuous such as lifting heavy objects or riding too hard and of course, being careful not to take falls. Some exercise is good, walking, taking in the fresh air. And… if I may, it is not entirely necessary to avoid one’s husband… but of course, it can be a good excuse should one wish to.’

Joanna did not wish to be impertinent, nor did she particularly believed the Duchess would be in want of avoiding the Duke’s bed judging by her blushing cheeks, but she wished to convey all the information she could so the Lady could decide for herself.

* * *

Later that day and grateful for Joanna’s help, Daphne was hiding in Rose’s room in the servant’s quarters with a chamber pot, a jar and barley seeds. Rose had offered to hide the telling jar in her room where no one would likely come across it and had brought in a few springs of lavender in a vase to cover any smell.

‘Oh Rose, are you sure?’

‘Yes my lady, worry not, I am glad to help you. I can place it on the high ledge by the window and leave it open for most of the day, it should not attract any attention at all.’

Daphne looked to the jar once again, worrying her lip and willing the seeds to germinate. Soon she would be sure, soon she would be allowed to express her joy, soon she will dare cradle her belly as hope grew in her heart.

* * *


	4. Dispair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nervous about this one, I greatly appreciate feedback! Enjoy!

* * *

Simon was lounging on a chaise longue in the music room listening to his Daphne playing a sweet tune of her own making in front of the large windows. His eyes might be closed but he was not sleeping, simply quietly enjoying being in her presence and silently fretting over the past few days. He had often found his wife lost in deep thought for no apparent reason or asleep in their marriage bed when formerly she would wait for them to retire together.

Initially, Simon worried that she had found fault and was retracting her affections from him, but the more he looked, he worried that instead, it was him who was neglecting her. Frequently tied up with urgent correspondence to his solicitor, the Duke was taking over the role of steward along with Jeffries until a replacement could be found and arranging all the changes needed for the farmers, several contracts which needed to be drawn up and signed. He came to bed later than he had previously and woke far earlier. He had taken the time to ravish his wife when he caught her but she was busy as well with Mrs Colson, taking the household in hand and turning Clyvedon into a longed-for home.

Simon also noticed Daphne looked far more tired than she had before, two days past she had shied away from his touch once while they were intimate and told him off for being too vigorous in his attentions to her bosom. Perhaps she was finally growing tired of his lust and inappropriate behaviour, he knew the way he loved her was not in line with the Ton’s standards for decorum especially as the goal of his attentions was not a child, however much he enjoyed seeing her freed from the bounds of society and demanding her own pleasure. He did not wish to shame his wife, nor did he think himself strong enough to live without her in his bed after having a taste of her. Simon’s worries were somewhat put to rest by waking up in a most peculiar yet comforting position with his back to Daphne as she cradled him to her chest. She had had her left arm and leg thrown over him and holding him close, Simon felt as if she could protect him from the harshest of storms, keep him warm and safe. It had been a revelation to be held in such a loving way.

Finally, this morning the last drop filled the cup and his worries turned from abandonment to her health. Simon woke to find Daphne expelling the contents of her stomach in a chamber pot by their bed. He had quickly rushed to her side, howling for her maid or Jeffries to call for a doctor right away but his wife refused to have him called or to see the physician. The Duchess insisted it had been the fish they had for dinner the evening past which had not sat well in her stomach and that he was not to chide the Cook for it or any of the staff. She claimed a sensibility of her own she should have recalled before indulging in fish and a bit more wine than usual even if the Duke was sure he had seen her enjoy that particular meal before with no issue and that she even drank less than usual.

In his worry for her, Simon decided that today he was not to work but rather spend the entire day with his wife and bid her to take some time away from ducal duties. As such he was now resting his eyes and listening to her play the piano. Earlier this morning he had proposed they spend their entire day in bed but as they had to dispose of the soiled chamber pot and Daphne had wished to bathe away the smell of sick, he was forced to relent and dress. Together, they had broken their fast until the morning haze lifted and the sun warmed the gardens sufficiently for a pleasant walk. While rather stiff, watching his wife for any sign of further illness and unwilling to allow her to overexert herself, the Duke found that this day with his Duchess was one he would not trade for the world as they giggled together at their good fortune in finding each other. They both confessed that it would be difficult for society to ever recover them from their country home as they enjoyed their walk in utter solitude far from sharp eyes and gossiping tongues.

Now, in the lazy sun of the afternoon, they had retreated indoors and Simon thought back on his declaration to the Queen prior to their marriage, they could not stay away from each other because they enjoyed one another’s company too much. The statement held true, through duties, sickness and worries, this moment, melting to his wife’s deft piano melody, Simon Basset felt most at peace.

* * *

Daphne was stealing glances at her husband as he laid down listening to her play. He was handsome with sunlight painting his face and she thought it sweet how he decided to keep this day only to themselves as a break from duties. She knew he meant to keep her under his observation after the incident that morning so she tried to not let her state of anxiety show. It was most inopportune that it was this day Simon woke later than usual and found her crouching over the chamber pot as she had for the past few days. This was the seventh day since her tea with Joanna and the seventh week since she last had her courses and Daphne could little contain her desire to hitch her skirts and run to Rose’s chamber to check her jar.

The Duchess had met Miss Nolan’s wide eyes over her husband’s shoulder but she could not tell if her nod had been indicative of the jar or an acceptance of the Duke’s insistence that he would aid his wife to dress that day instead. Daphne poured her trepidation into the song she was playing, having chosen to switch to a jovial tune for the purpose of masking the force with which she was hitting the keys. Other than her impatience, the day had been absolutely perfect, an intimate celebration of their marriage, just the two of them readying together, promenading in the private rose garden, taking tea on the patio. If only she could check the jar, Daphne could have the perfect ending to a perfect day, one she might have not been able to plan better under different circumstances. With confirmation from the jar and the increased symptoms which appeared during the week, she could finally tell Simon of her suspicions and they may end the day celebrating the news and falling into bed filled with joy and bliss.

Throughout the day, the Duke had taken to hovering, even when she required the need for a chamber pot, convinced she would be sick again and in need of assistance. Should Daphne be fair, he had been right as nausea often raised in her gut, but she refused to give away the game, knowing that being sick again would prompt Simon to call for a doctor despite her protests. She smiled at the thought of her protective husband even if at the moment his diligence was rather frustrating. Today only served to confirm to Daphne how in love with her Simon she was, absorbing his smile, his humour, his wit, his eyes, soaking in his care with his child growing under her heart. She could see them grow old like this, in the blissful sunshine of their love, blessed with one miracle along with the fortune of finding each other.

The Duchess stole another glance at her dozing Duke and took her chance to ensure the perfect ending to a perfect day. She softly ended her tune and raised to go to Rose’s chambers as quietly as possible as not to wake her husband.

‘Daff?’ He whispered hoarsely, startled from his relaxed state.

‘Shh, my love. Rest a while longer, I will return shortly,’ she soothed him with a kiss on his brow.

Daphne walked in measured even steps to the end of the hall as not to alarm him further after realising he had not been sleeping after all. Then further she was from the music room with more haste she moved towards the servant’s quarters. The Duchess found Rose inspecting a basket of freshly laundered bed linens for faults. The Lady’s maid quickly dropped them back in as her mistress entered.

‘Your Grace,’ she curtsied. ‘It is time.’

Rose turned to her own chambers and ushered the lady in before reaching for the jar on the high ledge by the window. Daphne could feel her hands shaking, she had been so convinced she was with child her heart would break into a thousand little pieces if the barley seeds were unchanged. Joanna had said that should it be too early they may not germinate but she needed to know, she needed to be sure.

In the jar, floating were sprouted seedlings, with their roots extended as if small fingers reaching out. There was a babe, it was sure, the test, the symptoms, there was truly a baby. Daphne burst into relieved laughter with emotionally charged tears slipping down her cheeks. She was to be a mother! And Simon a father! Despite all obstacles, she would have her dreams come true, her little miracle. She finally dared to touch her belly, to say hello to the precious little life she so longed for, safely growing in her. A boy with his father’s curls and expressive eyes and smile or perhaps a girl with his laughter and gentle heart, what features of her own would she see in her child, perhaps her love of music or her eye colour. So many possibilities to imagine in the following months until the baby would be placed in her arms.

Daphne lifted her eyes and together, she and Rose burst into giggles, overwhelmed with joy for this moment they shared and fiercely guarded together. They embraced, the lady almost jumping into the older girl’s arms, despite differences in station, as Miss Nolan had proven once again her earned position as one of the Duchesses closest and most trusted confidantes.

‘Thank you, Rose’ she whispered, not trusting her voice yet.

‘It was my honour, Your Grace,’ the lady’s maid said, similarly choked up. ‘You will be the most wonderful mother’

The two shared a smile before devolving into giggles again both in relief and at the ridiculousness of needing to dispose of the week-old jar of urine still clutched in Rose’s hand who was careful not to spill it on her Lady’s dress.

* * *

Simon sat up as soon as Daphne walked back into the music room accompanied by Mrs Colson and a footman bringing tea and his favourite gooseberry pie along with other cakes and fruit. His wife smiled at his confusion as their housekeeper directed the footman and quickly set a lovely spread on the table nearest to his chaise before leaving the two alone once more.

‘Gooseberry pie, dearest?’ Simon smiled at his beautiful wife thinking of enjoying said dessert in bed under the waning sundown light.

‘Your favourite,’ she said, approaching him slowly, something different and ecstatic in her eyes. ‘I… I wish to tell you something.’

Daphne gingerly sat on the chaise motioning for him to join her.

‘I know your parents had… difficulties in conceiving and that you believe you share that condition, but…’ she grabbed his hands as he looked at her in utter confusion. ‘They succeeded, did they not? You were born, perhaps it was difficult but not an impossibility.’

As Daphne babbled her idea, the Duke realised she had gravely misunderstood him that day on the duelling field. His heart tightened with dread, she was asking him to try for a child and she would grow to hate him when he refused. Deep down, Simon knew that she had misunderstood, deep down, a part of him would look at his words from back then and see a carefully constructed lie that obtained him everything he wanted. His father’s mocking pride came to the forefront of his thoughts, the monster having the gall to believe he would be forgiven, that he could be forgiven, on his death bed. He similarly had the gall to believe she would never know, she would never question, that his bright Daphne would not think and uncover his deception. He opened his mouth to explain, in part the truth for he could not admit to the greater trap he had laid, no matter how unconsciously it was done. The hungry darkness that clouded his judgement in the maze had also seeped into his tired mind on the duelling field after his heart had seized with fright at her fall from the saddle and his instincts screamed against such a death. Guilt. Only now he saw how he trapped her twice, never having taken the time to explain, pretending she chose him while in full possession of the facts.

‘Daphne, I…’

‘Simon…’ she interrupted, taking in a deep breath. ‘It seems a miracle, but… I am with child.’

His wife’s smile slipped at his hardening face, anger taking over for a moment. A failure, again, a failure, never good enough to be the next Duke of Hastings, never good enough to be acknowledged, much less loved, now not good enough to keep a blasted vow. His vow, his triumph, unmade by his carelessness, unworthy greed.

‘What did you do?’ He asked harshly, half to himself, his eyes unseeing, fixed on her belly. ‘Wha…what did you do?’

He knew, he knew that there would be a chance he failed, that the best solution would be to avoid her bed completely, yet after the first night, he was drawn like a moth to the flame, unable to leave her be. He did this, he broke his vow, he failed. A failure, an imbecile, a half-witted bastard.

‘What do you mean? Simon? Simon, this is a blessing, a miracle. Are you not happy? We are to have a child,’ Daphne pleaded, frantic and confused.

‘I did not want a child! This is not a miracle!’ he burst, raising from the chaise, drowning in self-loathing as he left her all alone.

The truth came out and he would lose his wife and his triumph, his vow. His worst fears were confirmed, he was as incapable as his father claimed and he endangered his Daphne. Simon could not breathe as he hurried through the corridor, past Mrs Colson and Miss Nolan, past the servants to his wing, to his chamber, where he could slam the door. Where he could be alone, where he did not have to talk.

* * *

There was a dull ringing in Daphne’s ears, as she sat on the chaise stunned numb by her husband’s reaction. Did he think her capable of straying from his bed? Was that what he meant when he asked her what did she do? No, no, he could not be so cruel as to throw such a baseless accusation into her face, she had been accompanied at every turn, he could not believe such a thing. _‘I did not want a child! This is not a miracle!’_

_‘I did not want a child! This is not a miracle!’_ Simon lied. He lied. ‘ _I said to the Duchess what my mother said to me. A womb cannot quicken without strong, healthy seed.’_ She was a fool, never thinking much of how he withdrew from her so suddenly when they were abed. He lied to her. You do not lie to the one you love, you do not trick the one you love.

She could hear servants whispering outside the open door the Duke had yanked just a moment earlier.

You do not humiliate the one you love. He lied. He lied and she stood struck dumb on the chaise, with soundless fat tears rolling down her face, cradling her unborn child.

Mrs Colson and Rose stepped carefully into the room after dispersing the loitering servants and sending a maid ahead to light the fire in the Duchess’s room. The housekeeper recognised the look, her former mistress often wore it as well, the hurt and shocked silence. Was the past to repeat itself regardless? The two kindly coaxed Her Grace to her feet, mostly carrying her to her bed-chamber, where they wordlessly changed her into a nightgown, before tucking her into bed. Miss Nolan nodded, taking the first watch by her lady’s bedside as Mrs Colson went to take the staff in hand and make preparations for the stormy days ahead. Rose waited until Daphne’s eyes closed, before retiring to her own bed tranquil in the knowledge that the Duchess was finally sleeping.

Minutes later, Daphne’s thick harrowing sobs echoed through the ducal quarters, though the door separating this foreign room from the one she had shared with her husband, piercing Simon’s heart as he sank deeper in self-loathing. Alone, she mourned her marriage, her trust, her love, her loss of him as she’d known. Alone, she placed a hand on her belly willing a message across.

‘I want you little one. You shall never be alone. Mama loves you.’

* * *


End file.
